Life I Left Behind (A Daryl Dixon Story)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Charlie

Weeks Ago

Gabe and I had seriously underestimated how bad things we were…and we had assumed they were pretty bad already. Every broken down car we passed on the side of the road, every house with its windows boarded up, every empty street littered with trash, every blood stained sidewalk sent cold chills down my spine. It was like we were walking through a nightmare. I had thought the highway would be the hardest part. The moment we set foot in the town we used to call home, though, I realized I had been wrong. So very wrong.

This was not the home I remembered. The last time I had been here it had been a busy, bustling community. Now it was a ghost town. A few walkers lingered in the streets, dragging their feet, in search of their next meal. Broken shards of glass glittered on the sidewalks in front of busted store windows. A bicycle was still chained to a tree outside the pharmacy, as if someone had just gone inside.

"No one's here." Gabe said, his voice full of quiet disbelief.

I don't know what we had been expecting. Maybe that, because it was a small town, there would still be some signs of life here. That maybe the outbreak had skipped over our home altogether. It had been stupid, really. We should have prepared ourselves for this. I think that was our first mistake.

"There might still be people inside hiding." I assured Gabe, although I was starting to believe that maybe we were the only two people left live in the entire state. Maybe the entire country. "Let's just keep going. Home isn't too far from here."

He nodded. He unsheathed the hunting knife he carried on his belt and I gripped the lucky bat he had given me all those years ago tightly in my hands. We crept through the center of town, careful to stay as hidden and silent as possible. So far there had only been a handful of walkers, which had been easy to either bypass or take down. The fact that we had seen so few, though, dug a pit in my stomach. This town had been full of people. Did most of them get out? Were they hiding, like I had said to Gabe only a few minutes ago? 'Or maybe they all turned and are just waiting for us somewhere…' I dismissed this thought and kept going.

Gabe froze suddenly. "Do you hear that?"

I stopped in my tracks, straining my ears. Sure enough, I heard something rustling in the bushes near the side of the road. We had almost made it out of the town center unscathed. I prayed that wasn't about the change. I took a step closer, lifting my weapon high over my head, ready to bring it down hard if a walker was lurking just behind the shrubbery.

Something small and quick suddenly darted in my direction and I brought my bat down hard, letting out a yelp of surprise. The tip of the bat hit the pavement with a 'thud' and I whirled around to see a gray cat standing about five feet from Gabe, lazily waving its tail back and forth. I let out a sigh of relief and before I knew it, both Gabe and I were laughing. Laughing at the fact that I had just mistaken a cat for a walker…but mostly laughing because we were relieved it hadn't been one.

The cat seemed unfazed by this, blinking a few times before slinking off. We were still chuckling when it suddenly hopped onto the hood of an abandoned pick-up truck on the side of the road. A shrill, piercing alarm suddenly rang out, slicing through the silence. My heart dropped and Gabe and I had a moment where both our faces mirrored the same utter panic. Then we were racing towards the truck.

"I don't see the keys!" I yelled, reaching underneath the seats and checking under the visors.

"Are there some wires we can pull? How the hell do we stop it?" Gabe shouted back.

I pulled myself out of the truck and when I looked around, I realized we were screwed. The streets had been nearly empty of walkers before. Now they were pouring of shops, out of cars, just out of everywhere. Two dozen at least.

"Gabe." I whispered, recognizing the terror in my voice. Just as Gabe turned around, a walker lunged towards us. I swung my bat down hard, meeting its head with a sickening crack.

"We need to run!" I heard my brother shout, appearing at my side. I nodded, scanning the crowd of incoming zombies for an escape route. Instead, I found something else. Something that made the contents of my stomach writhe and my heart seemingly stop.

"Mom."

Gabe furrowed his eyebrows, trying to follow my gaze. I knew he saw her too when his mouth fell open. "Oh my god."

There she was. Wearing that hideous neon pink sweatshirt with the flower pattern. The one I begged her not to wear in public. It was covered in blood, though. A horrible growling sound was coming from her open mouth, her eyes sunk into her skull and her skin hanging off her face in shreds.

"Charlie! CHARLIE!" Gabe was shaking me. I forced myself to look at him. "We need to run. Climb into the bed of the truck and jump out the other side. I'll be right behind you!"

I felt myself nodding, trying to register his words. I couldn't stop staring at her, though. My mom. She was dead. This shouldn't be happening, none of this should have been. How was this my life?

I suddenly felt a pair of hands on my back, pushing me into the side of the truck. Gabe was blocking me as I finally moved, heaving myself over the edge of the truck and into the bed. I quickly crawled over to the other side and fell out onto the grass. I pulled myself to my feet and realized Gabe still hadn't followed me. My eyes went back to the truck where he was still pressed against it, surrounded by the walkers. His knife was slashing back and forth and I heard a shot ring out and realized he had pulled his gun out. Only in an emergency. Only when you felt like you might not make it. That was what we had decided.

"Gabe!" The strangled scream escaped from my throat and tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Go, just get out of here!" He yelled back. "Please!"

I took step forward, wanting to just launch myself into the crowd of walkers and tear them to pieces. The other ones had started to take notice of me though and were straggling around the truck, making swipes at me with their decaying hands. Gabe was still yelling for me to go. So I turned and I ran.

I ran as fast as I could, aware of the sobs racking my entire body and the tears streaming into my vision. I wiped them away but didn't stop. Only when I reached the street I used to live on did I bother to slow down. The tears were still coming. I let them as I walked down the dirt road and took a right into a familiar gravel driveway. The house looked untouched. The paint was still peeling from the siding, roof shingles missing. A familiar truck sat in the driveway. I wiped my eyes again and jogged towards the front door. I knew I wasn't being careful, but I didn't care anymore. I swung it open and stepped into the quiet house.

"Daryl!" I yelled. No answer. I yelled again. I ran through every room of the house, calling his name over and over again. He wasn't there, though. I should have known he wouldn't stick around. Why would he? Why had I allowed myself to belief that maybe, just maybe, I would find him here, waiting for me like we were still the friends we were at ten years old?

I stumbled back outside and made my way to the truck. The door was unlocked and I climbed inside, slamming it shut behind me. The leather on the seats was worn away, revealing the cushioning inside. I remembered riding in this thing like it was only yesterday. I remember sitting behind this wheel with Daryl next to me, smirking as I tried to figure out how to work the gas pedal. Another sob wracked my body. I locked the doors and laid down on the seat, curling myself into a tight ball. The seats smelled musky and familiar. It was little comfort, but more than anything else I had. I closed my eyes and images of that thing that had once been my mom snarling at me surfaced, Gabe surrounded by walkers screaming at me to get away. I willed myself to think about anything else, for my mind to find somewhere safe. I thought back to one of the hottest summers of July, when I shared my ice cream cone with a little boy with sandy brown hair, wearing a dirty striped tee-shirt.